"Well done! This action raises you in my esteem. Still, you may take money from me without a blush. Am I not your mamma?"
Raimundo said nothing; he only kissed the hands that had held him fast. Money was never again spoken of between them.
But still, in spite of his three-and-twenty years, there was something childlike about the lad which was an infinite delight to his mistress. It was due chiefly to his solitary and effeminate youth. He was very easily taken in, and as easily amused; he never had those fits of black boredom which afflict the spoilt worldling; he never uttered one of the caustic and ironical speeches which are common even on a lover's lips. His glee was effervescent and boyish to the verge of the ridiculous. He thought it fun to play follow-my-leader behind Clementina in their little lodgings, or to hide and startle her. He would entertain her with conjuring tricks, which perhaps showed some intelligence; or they would play at cards with absorbed attention, as though they were gambling for large sums; or they would dance to the music of some grinding organ, that had stopped within hearing. Then they would eat bon-bons for a match, seeing who would get through most. One day he was bent on making pine-apple ice; he declared that he was great at making ices. All the apparatus was borrowed from a café in the neighbourhood, and after stirring and turning for some time, he at last turned out an ugly and untempting mass, which so greatly depressed him that Clementina actually swallowed a large dose of the liquid. He was fond of mimicking the accent and manner of any one he had met at her house; and this he did to such perfection, that Clementina laughed with all her heart; nay, she sometimes entreated him to cease, for it hurt her to laugh so much. Raimundo had the gift of observing the most trifling peculiarities of the persons he met, and imitating them to perfection. It was difficult to believe that the person mimicked was not speaking. However, it was only in the strictest confidence that he displayed this accomplishment.
Sometimes if he was in a merry mood he would perform a Royal reception. He hastily erected a throne in the middle of the room, on which Clementina must sit. Then the Ministers and high political personages in turn approached the Queen and spoke a short address. Clementina, who knew them every one, could guess who each was from only a few words. Raimundo, having often been present at the meetings of Congress, had picked up the accent and gesture of each to the life. He was particularly happy in his imitation of Jimenez Arbos, whom he knew well from meeting him at the Osorios'. Of course, after each speech, he kissed the sovereign's hand with a reverent bow, and resumed the paper cocked-hat he had made for the occasion. These childish games amused the lady, and helped to open a heart which had always been closed by pride or ennui. She came away from their long interviews quite rejuvenescent, her eyes sparkling, her step lighter, and ready to bestow a nod on persons to whom as a rule she would vouchsafe only the coldest bow.
And then Raimundo would amaze her by some inconceivably childish and innocent proceeding. One day, when she noiselessly entered their rooms—for each had a key—she found him industriously sweeping the floor. He blushed to the ears with confusion, at being discovered. Clementina, in fits of laughter, covered his face with kisses.
"Really, child, you are too delightful!" she exclaimed.
CHAPTER X.
MATTERS OF BUSINESS.
IT was a very busy morning in Salabert's counting-house. Some large payments had to be made. The Duke himself had presided over the transactions and helped the cashier to count the notes. In spite of the many years he had spent in handling money, he could never part with a large sum without his hand shaking a little. He was nervous now, and absorbed, nibbling his cigar, but not spitting as usual, for his throat was dry. More than once he checked the clerk, believing that he was allowing two notes to pass for one, but on each occasion he was in error; the man was very dexterous at his work. When it was all done, the Duke withdrew to his private room, where he found waiting M. de Fayolle, the great importer of foreign horses, which he supplied to all the aristocracy of Madrid.
"Bon-jour, Monsieur," said the Duke, clapping him roughly on the shoulder. "Have you got another screw you want me to take off your hands?"
"Oh, Monsieur le Duc, the horses I sold you are not screws, not a bit of it. You have the best cattle that ever passed through my stables," said the Frenchman with a foreign accent and a servile smile.